“I’m a bit afraid we won’t have much luck in that quarter, Rob,” said Sim. “When you come to think of it, a little fellow like a six-year-old doesn’t make much of a dent when he steps out, like a heavy man would, or Tubby here.”
“Still, there are ways of following a trail besides always seeing the impression of feet,” hinted Rob. “But wait and see how we fare. The ground must be in pretty good condition for tracking, under the trees. Even a small chap like him could turn over the pine needles as he tramped along, and you can always tell that by the freshness of those that are disturbed—those on top, you know, look faded in the sun and air and rain.”
Ralph listened and nodded his head in approval. Such confident talk aroused his sincere admiration. He felt more than ever that Rob must be a remarkable boy; and if the mere fact of being a scout could account for any degree of his cleverness, then perhaps this education they spoke of, running along the lines of a knowledge of woodcraft, first aid to the injured, preparedness, lending a helping hand, and all that sort of thing might not be such a bad subject, after all, to study. Somehow, his opinion of scouts in general was undergoing a steady change. He meant to keep tabs on every action of these four fellows, now that they were face to face with another emergency. If they could come out of this difficulty as successfully as Rob had done when that boy with the dislocated shoulder fell into his charge, Ralph would be almost ready to surrender and admit he had been badly mistaken.
When they arrived at the house it was to find quite a gathering of neighboring women present. Rob knew nothing was to be gained by coming in contact with these people, for while their intentions might be commendable, they were only apt to hinder the work with their questions, and by advancing impossible theories.
He asked Mrs. Holcomb to please let him speak with her oldest girl, who, it appeared, had been the last one to notice little Caleb before the fact of his vanishing had become known.
All Rob wanted to learn was about the time of day this happened, and in which quarter the child had been at the time. To his mind that would mark the beginning of the trail, and he did not mean to have any of the women around when starting to search for the tiny tracks.
Just as he expected, no one had as yet thought to search the ground for signs of the wanderer’s shoe prints; instead of that, they had scattered through the woods, or rushed madly away toward the river, hoping to find the boy before anything serious happened to him.
Rob soon learned the few things the half-grown girl could tell him between her violent sobs.
“Now come with me, fellows, and we’ll start off,” he told the others as they gathered eagerly around him.
Mr. Jeffords continued with them. Something seemed to tell him that these wide-awake and up-to-date scouts would have a much better chance of getting results than all those husky men who were roaming the woods at random, shouting to one another, or else calling out the name of the child.